


An Uberwaldean Madsci in Ankh-Morpork

by QueanBysshe



Category: Discworld, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Young Frankenstein - Fandom
Genre: Bildungsroman except the main character is in their thirties, Mad Scientists, The Ankh-Morpork Times, Uberwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 18:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueanBysshe/pseuds/QueanBysshe
Summary: While Franz—Frank, to those that knew him socially—had his mastery of creating Kreaturen from scratch, and Frederick could fine-tune their brains until they were quite as articulate as his father’s first Kreature, and Amirani toyed with living flesh like a sculptor with marble, Vartan… had tried everything, applying himself diligently to his studies, but found no trueinspiration.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This autumn marks Vartan's 11th birthday as a character. I decided, after my becoming single again, that it was high time I made a version of him that recalled his roots.

Vartan Amadeus Bathurst was a fine name for a mad scientist, and Vartan himself was an exceptionally fine example of a madsci. He had studied under both Frankensteins (though he’d preferred Franz), and had even met with and established cordial exchange of correspondence with the mysterious Amirani Khandzogh. He had killed his patron and his father, and used their remains to experiment. He had done, in short, everything a young madsci hoped to achieve by the age of thirty-five. 

Except determine what his Life’s Work was. 

While Franz—Frank, to those that knew him socially—had his mastery of creating Kreaturen from scratch, and Frederick could fine-tune their brains until they were quite as articulate as his father’s first Kreature, and Amirani toyed with living flesh like a sculptor with marble, Vartan… had tried everything, applying himself diligently to his studies, but found no true _inspiration_. 

He went to the City, because that was where you went when you needed inspiration, newness. The City was certainly full of things that would be new to anyone from the formerly evil empire, from the clacks towers to the newspaper. The newspaper fascinated Vartan so much he found himself looking for it. 

When a thief reached into his pocket, all he found there was a metal thing that suddenly, upon being disturbed, _disgorged a number of pointy blades._ Drawing back, he yelped, hand covered in blood, the object clattering to the ground. Vartan turned. 

‘Don’t touch that!’ he said, at once kneeling to rescue the little device, examining it carefully in long, red-gloved fingers. ‘You wretched creature, you’ve broken it!’ He looked sadly at the little device. 

‘What did it do to me, Igor?’ the thief was bidding the Igor that had immediately melted out of an alley to aid the wounded. ‘Look at all this blood, I’m dyin’, I am...’ 

‘Not at all, thir. Merely a mechanical leech. A fine model, too...’ 

‘ _Broken_ ,’ Vartan fumed, beautiful and terrible in his rage. After a moment, he glanced up at the sky, which was unchanged. ‘Why isn’t there thunder?’ he demanded. 

‘The Univerthity, thir. The magical field playth havoc with the Weather. Might I suggetht the jeweller on Gleam Thtreet?’ 

Vartan’s mood changed in an instant—and why shouldn’t it, he’d just found a solution to his problem. He slipped the mechanical leech into his pocket again, noting how useful it was as a deterrent to thieves, and his high heeled boots snapped on the cobbles as he made his way to the street in question, asking every stray undead person to maintain his direction. 

\- 

Otto was just leaving to restock, opening the door to find a tall silhouette blocking the doorway, long-nailed hand outstretched toward the doorknob. 

Exquisitely painted lips and eyes, heels sharp and high enough to stake someone, hair as wild and curling as the ideas that came from inside the head it was on. 

‘Herr Doktor,’ Otto said, faintly, ‘Vhat brings you all the vay to ze City?’ 

Those b—wine-red lips pulled back into a smile that made one worry about everything. It was a smile that was usually accompanied by a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder. Otto knew it well, but he didn’t recognise this one. 

Vartan knew this vampire didn’t know his name, but only that he recognised a madsci, not that it was difficult—for someone from Uberwald, anyway. Madsci were all of a kind, like vampires were; but if you’d never met a vampire, or heard much about what they were supposed to _look like_ , you might, say, mistake a banshee for one, or a zombie, or a werewolf. 

Madsci, to their horror, were often mistaken for _ordinary_ , by humans. No one else made that mistake. 

‘I was looking for the Times,’ Vartan said, looking Otto up and down, mostly down, the way he’d learnt from Frank. ‘But _you’ll_ do.’ 

Otto shivered agreeably, and matched the smirk curling the madsci’s lips. ‘Let me show you to Mr de Worde’s office.’ 


	2. Chapter 2

This would be fun; Otto had already figured out, ahead of William, that the boy’s ***** tastes ran toward the Uberwaldean—oh, he and Sacharissa were wonderful together, of course; but one’s darker desires were always for the place were darker desires _came from_. 

The sound of a madsci’s heeled stride, masterful and _sexual_ , followed behind Otto as he allowed himself to be led through the much bigger headquarters of the Times. They were in a proper _building_ now, with multiple stories both above—and below. 

Otto knew William was in his office, and knew equally well that he was ill-prepared for the smouldering tempest that was a madsci. 

‘Villiam!’ he called, almost sweetly, knocking on the office door. ‘Zere is someone here to see you!’ 

‘Tell them to go away, I’m busy.’ 

The offended noise behind Otto said very clearly, even if Otto wasn’t already aware, that _that_ was not going to happen, _especially_ now. Madsci were like cats; if you were desperate for one, they disdained your company—and if you absolutely wanted nothing whatever to do with them, they climbed on your lap and refused to leave until you had given them adequate petting. 


End file.
